


The Ghost of You

by VirginiasWolf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Food Poisoning, Light Angst, Sort Of, Weird Fluff, the angst is sort of, the food poisoning is definite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirginiasWolf/pseuds/VirginiasWolf
Summary: Camille's been living with Richard's ghost for over a year now, why should Paris be any different? Is it possible that Richard's death has actually drawn them closer?
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	The Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> Like so many others, I was initially less than enthusiastic about the revelation that Richard is still canonically dead, but I was determined not to despair so easily especially when his scene hinted so strongly at him now being a ghost that openly haunts her meaning it fell right into my non-fandom wheelhouse. So have some domestic ghost Richard semi-fluff.

“I believe I was right about eating food truck sushi.” Richard’s voice pierces the fog of Camille’s brain and for the briefest of moments it occurs to her that if her life were normal it would be frightening that her food poisoning is so bad she is hearing the voice of a dead man. Her life isn’t normal though, and for her perhaps it would be more frightening if she wasn’t hearing his voice.

“Oh stop with your gloating,” she growls from her position cradling the toilet bowl.

“I’m not gloating Camille. I’m quite concerned about you. One moment I thought we were having a perfectly lovely conversation and the next you were well…”

“Covered in my own vomit?” Camille lifts her head and immediately regrets it as another wave of nausea hits her. By the time she looks up again he is gone.

Even when he was alive, Richard was awkward at best with these kinds of situations so she isn’t surprised that he has vanished but it still hurts. Camille doesn’t do well with being sick. She likes to consider herself pretty tough, but when something is wrong with her own body she finds herself scared and upset. Now her mother is halfway around the globe and her dead roommate is apparently squeamish.

“Great. That’s just great.” Camille sighs leaning her head against the cool tile of the bathroom wall.

Suddenly she realizes that something very loud is happening outside the closed door. Someone she assumes has to be Richard is going through most of the rooms of the apartment with no apparent rhyme or reason. After another minute the kettle goes off and she decides the noise is definitely from Richard, which is probably good because she can hardly fight off an assailant while constantly vomiting and wearing only her underwear and bra. 

But why is he making a mess of the place? “Most annoying man I’ve ever met,” she mutters to herself.

Suddenly the bathroom door opens. Why hadn’t he just phased through it? He certainly has that ability.

“Go away.”

“I’m relocating you to the living room.”

“Why?”

“Because you are shivering right now Camille and you certainly don’t need a cold on top of food poisoning.”

She wants to point out that it might be because he is there, but she had been shivering before he walked in. She can’t leave the bathroom though. “I’m still nauseous.”

“Which is why there is a clean bag in your trash can. I refuse to let you spend all night in this room. I’ve already pulled out the couch for you and made ginger tea to settle your stomach.”

Cautiously Camille follows him to the living room, feeling as if her stomach will again upturn itself any minute. What she sees next does make her feel slightly better though. He hasn’t just pulled out the couch and made her tea. There are several layers of warm blankets and one of her sleeping shirts has been neatly laid out for her to change into. He must have been making all that noise as he tried to find her things.

“Oh.” Camille sinks gratefully onto the couch waiting until Richard has turned his back to discard her bra and slip into the night shirt.

As she lays her head down on a pillow she can see that the stock pot is on the stove. What is he doing? “What are you doing?”

“Making you soup.” Before she can ask he adds, “Not from your mother’s recipes. You need something far milder right now.”

Camille can’t help but smile as she watches him at the stove, but soon her feelings turn to distress. He looks so alive and solid right now. He’s even wearing the pajamas she loves so much and humming to himself as he works and he looks truly happy. She might be tempted to come up behind him and embrace him to feel his warmth, except she knows he won’t feel warm. Richard is one of the kindest, gentlest men she’s ever known and yet he was still murdered.

“It isn’t fair,” Camille wails causing Richard to freeze while holding a box of pasta.

“I know these are the wrong type of noodles for this dish, but it’s hardly worth throwing a tantrum over. This is what you have in your cabinet.”

Camille suddenly feels guilty. He probably doesn’t want to be reminded of his fate. “I just want to be held,” she half lies.

For a moment Richard looks almost panicked then a thought appears to occur to him. "If it would make you happy I can try to do that for you. Just umm...just crawl under all the covers first."

At first it's a strange feeling, not quite like being held by another person is supposed to feel, but it is still comforting knowing that this is her Richard holding her, and Camille rolls over to face him. “I love you.”

“I know, but please warn me if you feel like you are about to throw up again.”

Camille lets out a huff that quickly turns into a yawn. Her body is exhausted and wants sleep, and in Richard’s arms she feels safe enough to give in.

Some time later she awakens again and finds herself alone on the couch. A panic immediately surges through her. What if he had been waiting for her to profess her love only to finally cross over after he had her confession? As selfish as it seems she isn’t ready to let him go, in fact she’s certain she will never be. A raw scream escapes from her throat. “Richard! Richard! Don’t leave me!”

“I’m in the kitchen,” his voice responds calmly.

“Oh,” Camille rolls over and sees that he is indeed in the kitchen, back over his pot of soup. “I was afraid you’d decided to…” She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence and by his look of discomfort she has a feeling that he doesn’t want her to.

“I know I spent far more time than I should have complaining about your behavior or the island or the French in general, and I know everything that is happening right now is unusual, but I really do want to be here with you for as long as you’ll allow me to be.”

“Then I suppose you shall be here forever. I am a very needy woman.” It isn’t supposed to be this easy to talk to him like this, but she is relieved that he has stated that he plans to stay with her.

“Yes you are a needy woman, and right now you need to eat some soup.”

Camille rolls her eyes but quickly staunches her annoyance. She’s lucky that she has someone to take care of her in this state even if he is the unconventional sort. Soup feels like a safe bet even though it’s likely to be bland. 

Richard places the bowl on a card table before stepping back. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Maybe.”

“Why do you keep buying pasta shaped like sea creatures? It seems to be a rather strange choice and I can’t see any inherent benefits to it.”

“Because I feel less homesick when I cook with it.” She half expects him to argue with her emotional reasoning.

Instead he looks up to make eye contact with her before speaking. “Well then I suppose I was wrong about there being no inherent benefits.”

Camille takes a moment to look at the soup. Other than the aforementioned sea creature shaped pasta it looks like what she assumes is normal English chicken soup. Cautiously she sniffs it and feels a new wave of nausea forming. It isn’t that the soup smells bad, her body just apparently isn’t ready for anything. Perhaps she should have drank the now cold ginger tea. Either way, within moments she is vomiting again.

Seconds after she lifts her head she finds a glass of milk being handed to her. “Sip this, then try the soup.”

Camille is so caught up in trying to nurse herself that she barely notices that Richard had walked, or perhaps floated, away until he returns. “You’ve just texted to say you won’t be into the office tomorrow.”

“I have?”

“Well, technically I have using your phone, but one of us has to take care of their health and I’m a little past that stage, so you are going to spend the day resting.”

“But you will be with me the whole time, yes?”

-

The next morning Camille awakens still on her couch to find herself again alone. This time the immediate panic doesn't set in until she looks around the room and finds him not visibly present. “Richard?”

Before she can break into too much worry he phases through the front door of the apartment. “Relax Camille, I was just taking your garbage to the chute.”

“And you were unseen, yes?”

“Well, I am invisible to most people so I can assume I was unseen.”

Camille senses there is a but. “You were unseen, yes?”

“Your neighbor was taking her dog out. I believe she may have seen a floating garbage bag. Very brief, and it was quite a dark hall. We really need to talk to the landlord about that...A dark hallway is not a safe place for a single woman to be wandering about.”

Camille can’t help but smile at his mini rant. “Well, I would have to be the one to do the talking because you are not on the lease.”

“Right...umm because I am a spiritual entity, isn’t that what you called it before?”

“Only after you refused to say the word ghost.”

“Well, ghost sounds too bloody weird. Makes me think of Casper.”

“Casper?”

“Nevermind,” Richard mutters before stating, “You know I really should be paying a cut of the utilities.”

“Ri-chard, you can’t pay a cut of the utilities because you don’t have any income, which is probably normal for a spiritual entity although I admit I haven’t interacted with many before, and as I said last night, I want you here. You keep me from being homesick too, just like the pasta.”

He’s definitely blushing when he responds. “Umm...well, I suppose I’m glad you’re the one I chose to haunt then. Would you umm, would you like me to make you breakfast?”

“Just toast please,” Camille requests pulling the blanket up to her chin as she speaks. “Come sit and watch a movie with me after? I want it…I want this to feel normal.”


End file.
